The Thrill And The Hurting
by R. Scott
Summary: 3x02. He’d burrowed his way into her skull like a maggot, a disease, slowly filling up all the caverns of her mind until it was nothing but his face, his voice, his cruelty and kindness, his madness and courage, his fiery rage and his loyal, loving heart.


**A/N: **Hi there! Blimey, it's been a while hasn't it? Well, in between enjoying the epic opening episodes of series three, I was inspired to write this. Honestly, there's so much angst on screen these days I don't know where to start :D

Hope you like this unbeta'd, unhinged little trip through Alex Drake's mind. As always, your thoughts are much loved and appreciated.

Ruby :o) x

* * *

It was like there was a hole in her head.

She knew that she should be seeing something there, feeling something- like that strange feeling of forgetting something you _know _that you have with you, yet you're utterly convinced you've left it behind. Like a piece of her was missing. It was the strangest sensation- she could almost see it, the shadow of a person long dormant in her memories, beckoning her forward and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and cling to them, whoever they were, their small frame growing ever more distant.

And then they faded. Always faded. Eclipsed by something else.

Someone else.

She gazed at him now, through the wreckage and the rubble that formed CID, sat on his throne, king of it all. It sickened her. Pained her to think about him, constant, agonizing pain, thinking of him, _always him_, every second. He'd burrowed his way into her skull like a maggot, a disease, slowly filling up all the caverns of her mind until it was nothing but his face, his voice, his cruelty and kindness, his madness and courage, his fiery rage and his loyal, loving heart. It was all there, consuming her. Her fragile, half-broken mind had been completely destroyed; he'd bulldozed through it and pieced it back together again, each fragment burnt forever with his image.

She hated him for it.

Stood in the doorway, the whole room between them, she watched as he slowly ran his finger around the rim of his scotch, hesitant, deliberate. They were both bathed in darkness now, flickers of light bursting now and again from the broken panels above, buzzing like a swarm of insects growing madder and madder, trapped in a box. This place was as ravaged and broken as she had become, everything falling apart. And still he remained. Her anchor. Her constant. She clutched the item in her hands close to her chest, her palms clammy.

She could see the strain in his posture, slouched, heavy with exhaustion, life catching up on him, and she didn't need to alert him to her presence; he knew she was there. All she could do was wait for him to acknowledge her. She told herself it was because he was the one who had to end this, to cut the ties between them. Not because she couldn't bring herself to. Too afraid to move on. Too afraid to let him go.

She was shaking, she realised, her entire body quivering, her stomach churning. Everything around her suddenly seemed to come into focus- she became completely aware of every tiny, insignificant thing. The smallest vibrations shuddered through her, the whole place like a web, every thread connected, every moment. And at the centre of it all was that gluttonous spider, luring everyone else in, trapping them there.

A tear found its way across the plain of her pale, sunken cheek and she sniffed loudly, closing her eyes briefly before stepping forward, that object of such grave importance clutched at her breast, all the while her stubborn heart summoning some kind of strength she didn't have, not any more. He'd taken it from her.

The walk to his desk was the longest of her life. He hadn't moved. Didn't flinch as she stepped into the shadows of his office, a space that seemed so much more confined than ever before. The lion's den.

With an unprecedented force she hadn't known she possessed, she slammed the black, leather jacket down on his desk and leant forward, trembling with fear, with rage, with all the unwanted emotion he had bestowed upon her.

"_Why?_"

Her voice didn't sound like her own and for a moment, lost in her abysmal fury, she thought he hadn't heard her. Through her blurred vision he looked unchanged, no expression on his face save that stony, infinite pout. The solemn gaze that had become such a part of her existence, the prospect of facing a moment without it filled her with terror.

He offered no immediate answer, not that she'd expected it. His eyes, downcast and filled with grim promise, drifted towards the item on his desk, stared at it almost longingly but only she would notice that, notice any speck of change. So accustomed was she to the sight of him, she could spot even the subtlest of alterations, each twitch of his muscles, each emotion that flashed in his eyes. She could envision each movement so clearly in her minds eye and she wanted to scream, louder and louder until the sheer force of it tore the sight from her memory.

Finally, after the sound of her own laboured breathing was more than she could bear, he lifted his head to look at her. Captured by his gaze, a sharp jolt shot through her body, hitting her in the chest like a bullet had torn straight through it.

"Why what," he said, his voice so low, so dangerous. She wasn't sure she'd ever been afraid of him but she saw it now, saw in his eyes what so many others feared.

And there were so many questions now, stuck in her throat, each fighting to leave her trembling lips. Why won't you tell me the truth. How did he die. Who are you, really.

But only one seemed to make it through, bubbling up to the surface as her face seemed to fall, as she tried to catch her breath; one question that even she couldn't comprehend.

A strained cry burst from her and, even to her own ears, her words carried such sorrow unlike any she'd heard before.

"_Why can't I leave you?!"_

It sounded so momentous in her head yet now it was out it left her breathless, empty. She couldn't go back, couldn't stop now and there was something then, something new in his eyes. A flinch, a dart of surprise, and he frowned instantly, her words having some kind of unexpected effect on him. She stepped back, the familiar anger returning to him, covering whatever reaction there'd been. All of this she saw in a matter of seconds.

"I don't know Drake," he said, his voice still eerily flat, devoid of any kind of emotion. "Why don't you tell me?"

She laughed at him, a cruel, heartless noise that was false in all its bravado, a shaking sound that only made her more afraid of the prospect in front of her. No, she wouldn't let him win, she couldn't- she would surely lose it completely, her grip on her own life growing weaker every second she spent with him.

"Tell me the truth, Gene," she said quietly, her voice small after her initial outburst, all the momentum she'd walked in with vanished for a moment. "Just tell-"

"I don't know what you want from me," he yelled suddenly, standing up, towering over her and it felt as though the whole world shook with his movements, each syllable that left him shuddering across time. "I don't even think you do! Eh?"

He grabbed the jacket and shoved it roughly back into her limp hands, stepping ever closer towards her, his broad frame taking up all space she could see. She blinked, frozen completely, the sight flashing before her, as if from a long forgotten dream.

"You act like you hate me, " he said, his voice barely above a whisper, menacing, ugly. "You _wish _you could hate me. You'll happily let that bastard Keats poison your mind with all this bollocks because, deep down, you want it to be true."

They stared at one another in silent battle; she knew it was pointless but that stubborn pride, still breathing inside of her somewhere beneath the insanity, kept her stood upright, kept her gaze upon him unwavering. She didn't want to think about the awful, broken expression that was no doubt on her face and instead focused on the eyes before her, the depths of them so dark now, like an endless sea in the dead of night.

He was so close they were almost touching, the jacket she clung to the only thing keeping them apart.

"What do you think? D'you think I killed him?"

A noise escaped her; a strange, gasping moan, like his words has sucked all the life out of her. Perhaps they had- perhaps he truly did have that power over her.

He stared down at her and she could see so much of him, so much he kept locked away. It was as though his very soul was blackened by contempt, the loathing, the _disappointment _in his stare leaving her feeling so alone she could barely stand. And then there was that longing, always burning behind whatever mask he wore, unmistakable, even now. It was a small triumph.

Somehow he'd stepped closer, her back now pressed against the thin wall of his office; she stuck out her jaw defiantly as he leaned in, his hand resting beside her head on the glass.

"Tell me, Alex. You do so love that bloody mind of yours. What's in it, right now?"

"I don't think anything." A pathetic, almost silent murmur.

"Why?"

"I – "

"Come on. Tell me what you're thinking about."

She wanted to be sick, she couldn't breathe.

"Tell me."

Couldn't move.

"Alex…"

Couldn't _think._

"_TELL ME!"_

She could have screamed. He wanted her to, she knew. But something stopped her for a moment, a force so subtle, so haunting- something stopped her from falling. Instead she let the silence swallow the two of them up, let it move between them slowly, achingly. Let it suffocate them until he suffered along with her, until she could see the pain in his eyes that he'd been trying to conceal since she'd stepped through the door.

And then, when it surfaced- when that private agony of his caused him to let out a horrible, shaking breath, so all consuming he had to look down- she couldn't keep it in anymore.

"_You_…are all I think about."

Her voice was quiet, choked with tears and his head shot up, his face set in fury but he didn't say a word. She wondered if her face mirrored his expression, could feel that rage rising up through her, clenching her fists, setting her jaw.

"You!" It was an angered sob, couldn't stop herself. "_All the time_. Like…like your stuck there, in my head. Like an _illness_."

His face showed nothing more but she carried on, driven by this madness that he'd left her with.

"I can't stand it. I…I can't stand the way my stomach churns when I think about leaving…that I feel _dead inside _when I'm not with you!"

She pressed her hands to her head, like it would stop her from collapsing, the jacket falling to the ground like a dead weight and he hadn't moved, not an inch, his face so close to hers still set in that sour grimace. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, of what she was confessing to him, a true sign of insanity.

"How is it possible!? I'm not meant to be here, I was _never meant to be here_, and I can't…"

She couldn't remember. Her life, her _real life_, because this couldn't be right, this passion, this obsession that ruled her so completely…there was something she was meant to be fighting for…fighting to _get home to…_but it was all dark, a black hole. That hole in her head…

"You make me forget," she whispered, suddenly seeing the empty spaces in her mind and clasping her hand to her mouth in terror. "You made me _forget…"_

"Stop crying," he said suddenly, his voice menacing but there was a tremor of desperation hidden there, like he was panicked, like he was losing control and she noticed he was swaying slightly, has hand balled into a trembling fist at his side. She gritted her teeth together, bowing her head and wiping at her tears with a stubborn hand.

"You're killing me," she said, lifting her head back up to stare at him levelly. "Do you know that?" She was short of breath again, trying to keep the tears at bay but there was no point, everything was clawing its way out of her-

"I love you so much it hurts!"

He pulled back in an instant, for a moment his face a strange combination of strangled hope and utter horror. He had to turn away, laughing it off with malice, running a hand through his hair while she stood frozen, Sam Tyler's jacket at her feet.

And it was true. It did hurt. It had hurt when he was completely out of sight, when she was stuck in that world between worlds, empty, dead. It hurt now, when he was not a foot away, when the thick stench of cigarettes and his aftershave clung to the air, when his breath was still warm on her lips.

It would almost kill her to leave him. But she had to. It was better this way.

Better that, than have him taken from her.

He was smiling grimly, staring at his feet, his hands in his pockets.

"_Funny_."

And his eyes moved across the floor, resting again on the jacket. A completely different longing in his eyes now, that pain unable to hide away, his face completely open for the first time. Slowly, he reached down and lifted it up, opening a drawer of his filing cabinet and placing it there, his eyes not straying for a moment. He slammed it shut.

She held her breath as he spoke in a quiet, dead voice.

"Sounds like you just answered your own question, love. Why don't you ask me what you really want to know?"

His eyes didn't move from drawer and she let out that breath, staring down at now empty space on the floor because she couldn't bear the ache in her chest for much longer, hated the fact that she had become this empty wreck before him.

"Why did you let him go?" she whispered, her eyes alight with fresh tears. She didn't try to stop them any longer. "_Why won't you let me go!?"_

Before she knew it, her forearms were in his vice-like grip as she was slammed into the glass. She cried out in pain, in shock, the walls seeming to shudder around her and she felt his fury, his agony, hit her like a speeding car.

"Let 'im go?" he cried, staring at her like he couldn't believe she was there. "Let him _go!? _That bastard _died! _He died and left a great big fucking mess be'ind!"

Her head fell, tears flowing freely as his fingers dug deeper into her arms.

"So don't you _dare_ come in 'ere and drag his name through the mud just because you're feeling bloody sorry for yourself. You wanna leave, Alex? _There's the fucking door!!"_

She looked up at him through blurred vision, feeling faint, feeling sick. She couldn't move.

"Oh…that's right. You _love me_," he spat "Well 'ere's some advice for you. Run for the bloody hills. Because anyone who gets close…they just wind up with their car into a river. Or with a bullet hole in their stomach."

This last sentence was broken, his teeth clamped together as is eyes darted towards her stomach, his grip unfaltering. She gazed at him through her heartache, could feel herself drowning. And she loved him so entirely, so without reason, knew that it was hopeless now, this screaming and crying and loathing. Because she knew that, despite everything…she couldn't live without him.

And for a horrendous instant that she couldn't understand, she thought of her father. She thought of the flames and terror of that dreadful day, thought of the madness in his eyes as that terrible fire had consumed him…how he'd dragged her mother down with him. How his love for her had killed them both.

The silence had dragged on again, magnifying their agony, and he frowned at her.

"You know why I ran, don't you?"

He didn't want an answer and so she didn't give him one.

"Because I couldn't stop thinking about it. About what I'd done to you. And everyday I hated meself that little bit more. Everyday I waited to 'ear that you'd died. That another one of my DI's 'ad…"

His voice trailed off and her hands rose unthinking to frame his face. He didn't stop her- he blinked furiously, pulled back a little, but the two of them were held in place, locked together. His stare was so intense, his jaw moved, about to say something- and the broken words that left his mouth seemed to shock him as much as they did her.

"I didn't kill 'im, Bolls."

The shuddering breath that followed was silenced as she pulled his mouth onto hers.

It was a slow, hesitant kiss- she wasn't sure why she'd done it, knew it was foolish, knew that ultimately it would do little to abolish their suffering. But suddenly they both seemed to collide, stars blinking before her eyes as he slammed her back into the wall, his hands pressing into her hips, her arms flung around his neck, clinging to him. Her anchor, her constant, her love.

He lifted her up, spun around, his mouth burning her and suddenly she was on his desk, items cluttering to the ground, his lips on hers jagged and uneven and hurried, like he couldn't get enough-

And suddenly he stopped, breathless, pulled back.

"Wait…" he gasped.

She waited. Waited as his hand rested on her jaw, as he simply looked at her. Took her in. And she waited. She'd wait for him for a lifetime.

"I didn't- " he began.

"I know."

He nodded, his forehead suddenly resting against hers as she ran shaking hands through his hair, as the whole world seemed to come to a halt around them.

"Christ, d'you 'ave any idea how long I've wanted this?"

She laughed, though it was more like a sob.

They stayed like that for a moment. Only a moment. Afterwards, each of his kisses condemned her. Claimed another piece of her soul. She knew that she would die for him.

Perhaps she already had.


End file.
